"Patricia A. McKillip - Naming Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

Naming Day.тАЭ

тАЬAvтАФFelix!тАЭ

Averil closed the door to the sound of a gentle rain of Fruitie Flakes
all over the floor.

She was halfway down the block, already searching the flowing
current of students for GriffithтАЩs white-gold hair, when she remembered her
book bag. It was still on the living-room floor where she had dropped it;
escap-ing the morning drama in the kitchen had taken up all her attention.
She turned back quickly, trying to make herself invisible so that her mother
wouldnтАЩt start in again at the sight of her. I am wind, she told herself, pulling
open the apartment building door. I am . . . spindrift.

Spindrift! There was a name, she realized triumphantly, running up the
two flights of stairs rather than wait for the elevator. White as swansтАЩ
feathers, a braid of wind and wave and foam, always graceful, never
predictable . . . She flung the door open, leaving it wide for a hasty escape,
and as she rushed in, something shot past her so fast it left only a vague
impression of gnarly limbs and light in her eyes before it vanished out the
door.

тАЬMy wand!тАЭ

The screech hit Averil like a spell; she skidded to a stop. This wasnтАЩt
her apartment, she saw, appalled. She had barged through the wrong door.
And there was thisтАФthis huge, ancient and incredibly ugly
thaumaturge-thing, a witch or crazed wizard, seething at her from behind a
cauldron bubbling over a firebed on her living-room floor.

тАЬYou let my greyling out!тАЭ

тАЬIтАЩm sorry,тАЭ Averil gasped. Plants crawling up the walls, across the
ceiling, whispered with their enormous leaves and seemed to quiver with
horror.

тАЬWell, donтАЩt just stand there like a gape-jawed booby, get it back!тАЭ

Averil closed her mouth, tried to retrieve some dignity. тАЬIтАЩm sorry,тАЭ
she repeated. Her voice wobbled in spite of herself. тАЬI have to get to
school. I just came back for my book bag, and I must have gone up an
extra floor.тАЭ She took a step, edging back toward the door. тАЬIтАЩll justтАФyour
greyling is probably downstairs; IтАЩll just go see. I wonтАЩt let it get out the front
door. I promise.тАЭ

Up the stairwell behind her came the distinct rattle of a heavy door
fitting its locks and hinges and frame back into place as it closed. The old
witch seemed to fill like a balloon behind her cauldron. Her tattered white
hair stiffened; her eyes, like thumbprints of tar in her wrinkled skin, slewed